


Steady Hands

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alien ritual involving hand-painting doesn't seem like that big of a deal, except that it really is, and not just for the aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Star Trek XI Kink Meme. Watch out for the hand kink, it's addictive.

The brush was tipped with hair from the _finnek_, a revered animal that looked to Sulu like a cross between a chinchilla and an iguana; the ink was made from the bark of the _raklan_ tree that grew in the temple courtyard, the twisting branches of which reminded Spock of a bonsai tree his mother had kept throughout his childhood. Neither voiced their comparisons, neither said anything, in fact; Sulu had made eye contact once at the beginning of the ritual, looking inordinately nervous, said, "At least they picked someone with steady hands," and hadn't looked up from the table since.

Ten feet to Spock's left, Kirk was making jokes with Ensign Chekov, prompting the younger man into laughter every few minutes. Spock disapproved; the successful completion of this diplomatic mission would be severely delayed should the ensign's work suffer from his amusement. Still, he tried to focus on the Captain, the wind chimes at the open entrance to the temple, the near-silent acolytes watching them calmly-- anything at all except the unbearably precise, tiny brush tracing the sensitive skin between his finger and thumb, fraying the few nerves he still held fast after nearly an hour of such stimulation.

From just below his smallest finger down to the wrist, crossing all four knuckles and spreading now along the base of his thumb, Sulu had been painting onto his left hand the delicate whorls and lines of the Rakutcher language, and not only were his fingers still to be decorated, but the palm of his hand would also be subjected to the Lieutenant's perfectly careful brushwork, and that-- no amount of meditation or distraction could possibly block what was _already_ the most erotic sensation Spock had experienced in his life, especially not while also blocking out the emotions and surface thoughts transmitted easily between their hands. He could keep his composure-- maybe-- or keep from peering into Sulu's mind-- possibly--

There was a 75.2 percent chance that both attempts at control would fail, and this would end in complete embarrassment on Spock's part.

\--

Sulu wouldn't have volunteered for the task of painting an oath of good faith and honesty onto Spock's hand, but he wasn't exactly given a choice-- the Rakutcher priest-governor had simply indicated the helmsman and navigator and pushed them gently toward the superior officer they'd been selected to assist. He had some little skill with calligraphy, an artifact of time spent with his grandparents, but Sulu didn't consider himself particularly artistic beyond the poetry of fencing and the careful guiding of plants into more beautiful growth.

His comment to Spock was more about reassuring himself that he _did_ have steady hands, he was a damn good pilot and that took precision, and this was just another thing to write home about. The brush he was given was more delicate than the stylus of a PADD, the ink a green deeper than leaves at twilight, and Sulu thought _no problem, I can do this_ even when he saw the complexity of the pattern he had to transfer to the First Officer's skin.

Then he took Spock's hand in his own, and his hands felt like the only steady thing left about him. The Vulcan's skin was warm as a porcelain cup filled with tea, surprisingly soft, and his thumb skimmed over Spock's knuckles without any forethought.

Humans generally rated psi-null. Hikaru Sulu had an Esper rating of 94, a Duke-Heidelburg quotient of 262, and was the most likely Human on the Enterprise to display extrasensory perception. Before taking Spock's hand, he had never directly touched a member of a naturally telepathic species; that thoughtless brush of his thumb sent a shock through him when a distinct but unfamiliar feeling of arousal came over him.

It was unfamiliar because it was not his own feeling. Restrained, almost muted, but still present, he could sense the Vulcan's carefully-guarded emotions: uncertainty, surprise, and when Sulu turned their still-linked hands to begin painting, a steadily rising and unexpectedly yearning feeling of _want_.

As long as he didn't look up he could do this. As long as he didn't have to say anything, his voice couldn't give him away. Sulu bit his own lips, kept his eyes on the pattern he traced onto Spock's skin, and tried to ignore the fact that he was getting hard-- that they were _both_ becoming erect-- in the middle of an alien ceremony that was vital to the Federation's acceptance on this planet.

Oh, he was so fucked it wasn't even funny, no matter how hard Chekov was laughing on the other side of the room.

\--

"How's it going over there?" Kirk's voice cut through the dwindling concentration Spock maintained. He glanced at the captain, sincerely hoping that the flush he could feel suffusing his ears and cheeks would be overlooked. Kirk was entirely unaffected, casual as ever while Chekov painted across his palm.

"Satisfactory, Captain." His voice, at least, he still fully controlled, sounding calm as always. Sulu peeked up, eyes dark through his lashes, and Spock added, "The Lieutenant is remarkably precise with such an unusual medium for artwork." Sulu's surprise broadcast clearly through their contact before Kirk's laughter rang out.

"Why, Mr. Sulu, I do believe you've been complimented. And rare praise, considering the source!"

"Thank you, sir," Sulu said faintly, looking flustered.

"It is illogical to thank a statement of fact." Lifting his head as Spock turned back to him, Sulu caught his gaze unexpectedly; this time the contact lingered, neither able to look away. Locked in a stare, each man saw the reflection of what he was feeling in the other's eyes. In that moment, Spock's final defenses fell.

\--

Sulu's only warning was the widening of Spock's eyes before the persistent winds of Spock's emotions battering at him became a gale force that actually stole the breath from his lungs. It was for the best that he couldn't make a sound; on the inside he was crying out two things:

_it's not real_ and _it's not fair._

Not real, because _he_ wasn't causing Spock's reaction, not really-- it would have been the same no matter who held the brush, just a physical response to a physical stimulus.

Not fair, because if he'd known what effect this ritual would have on the commander-- if he'd been given the choice!-- he would have agreed in a Vulcan heartbeat. If Spock had asked him, instead of being picked randomly by a Rakutcher priest-governor, maybe this would be bearable. Now all he had was an awkward, almost forced encounter, arousal evoked without intent or affection behind it. Even if Spock would respect him later-- and of course he would, this was a simple act of duty, just another order-- any chance at all he might have had to befriend the first officer had plummeted to less-than-zero.

_Your assumptions are unusually pessimistic, Mr. Sulu, and also fallacious._

That was more than emotion filtering through. Sulu tensed up-- that was Spock's voice in his head. Oh god, Spock was in his head, he could read his mind. _Please ignore my brain,_ he thought. It was like not thinking about a pink elephant-- as soon as he told himself not to think about sex, one of his (thankfully less pornographic) favorite fantasies came to the forefront of his mind.

\--

It was a very human failing to fixate on the very thing one tried not to think about. For someone with such a high psi rating, Sulu was completely mentally undisciplined, something Spock resolved to teach him at a later date. He was possessed of a very vivid imagination as well, one that had crafted a surprisingly realistic daydream involving Spock.

In fact, Sulu's plans would be a quite agreeable way to spend a day off duty. Most of the fantasy was innocent-- talking about mutual subjects of interest, sharing a meal, sparring in the gym with both epees and Vulcan hand-to-hand techniques. The helmsman was intelligent and had a broad variety of interests, and he was honestly curious about Spock's specialties; they could certainly learn much from each other.

The end of the fantasy was equally appealing; inviting Sulu back to his quarters and sharing intimacy was a pleasant thought indeed.

Before the daydream could play out past a bit of nuzzling, Sulu drew away and sat back in his chair, hands pulled to his chest, eyes lowering. "What was that?"

"I am not certain how, but I hypothesize that our minds were momentarily linked." There was no chance of Spock's voice remaining even now, but he could keep it quiet, at least. "I apologize for the unintentional intrusion, Lieutenant." His hands sprawled limp on the table between them. After a moment, Sulu picked up the tiny brush he had dropped, dipping it in the ink delicately.

"It's illogical to apologize for something you didn't make happen, isn't it, sir?" He held out his left hand, waiting until Spock gave over his half-painted hand for Sulu to continue. The resuming connection was like a completing circuit, a sudden steady hum of energy between them, but bearable now that they were expecting it. Just barely bearable.

\--

"I'll try and speed it up," Sulu said, studying the guide provided by the Rakutcher clergy (or politicians, or both, he really couldn't figure out the social structure on this planet) before limning the script for the smallest finger in one smooth flow, going back to add the appropriate dots and accents after another glance at the guide.

"Accuracy is preferable to speed," Spock reminded him, his eyes shut tightly and tension tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Repeating this process would be..."

"Not easy." Sulu finished his sentence wryly, repeating the all-in-one motion on Spock's ring finger. The backs of the hands were nowhere near as sensitive as the palm, and as he swiftly finished decorating the back of Spock's hand, the Vulcan paused for a long moment.

"The ink must have time to dry." It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it.

"At least it's only one hand necessary. This would be worse if you were ambidextrous," Sulu tried to joke, getting himself a raised eyebrow for his trouble.

"Regardless, I would only need to have the hand with which I intended to sign the treaty consecrated in this manner." Spock's eyes widened as one clear thought came across from the lieutenant, daring and laden with desire.

_I'd like to try on your other hand once we're out of public..._

\--

Though he'd remained silent, Sulu's cheeks flared red, and Spock ached with the difficulty of restraining himself. It stood to reason that a personality as playful as Hikaru Sulu's would express itself through teasing. _Please refrain from stimulating me more than is unavoidable at this time, Lieutenant. We will discuss further interaction once we return to the Enterprise._ The words were normal, but the tone was plaintive, the plea of a man at the edge of his composure.

"The pattern for the palm is more simple," Sulu murmured, tapping the page with the back end of the brush. Instead of the flowing script, this was a set of pictograms, spirals and squares, a rough representation of a _finnek_, and a _raklan_ tree climbing each finger. Finally, Spock turned his hand over, giving Sulu access to one of the most sensitive parts of his body.

"Come _on_, guys." Kirk blocked the light between them momentarily as he walked over. "You're still only halfway there? What's the hold up?"

"There is no need to rush. The signing of the treaty will not begin until twilight." Spock's voice was only mild because Sulu had yet to put brush to skin. A drop of ink fell onto Spock's hand and pooled in the center of his palm, and Kirk arched an eyebrow.

"Sure. You're usually more eager to get up and explore, that's all." He shrugged. "Chekov and I are going on a tour of the rest of the capitol building. Comm if there's any trouble." As if two of the senior officers needed a reminder. Spock's eyes followed the captain as he walked out, and the touch of wetness in the middle of his palm startled him. Sulu was dabbing at the ink drop with a moistened cloth, rubbing into the hollow of Spock's palm with his thumb; try as he might, Spock couldn't contain a gasp and a flare of pleasure traversing his nerves.

"Sorry," Sulu yelped, letting go of Spock's hand. "God, that felt-- how do you get anything done if that's how your hands feel all the time?"

"There is a marked difference between operating the science station or a tricorder, and being--" He had to fish for a word, proving how completely undone he was-- "driven to distraction by the steady application of an unusually persistent and mentally pervasive stimulus." Sulu had drawn the main spiral while he was talking, covering most of Spock's palm quickly, and the animal image was equally swiftly drawn at the base of his hand.

"Yeah, I get that." The small shapes that fit along the edges of Spock's palm were traced in, and then all that was left were the fingers. Both men braced themselves.

\--

"Keep your hand as still as possible," Sulu breathed, hardly daring to raise his voice now. One thick sweep up each finger, and a swirl at the fingertip, that was all... with the very first stroke, he could see Spock fighting to keep his fingers outstretched, unable to restrain a tremor that only grew with the next touch of the brush. There was no help for it; the contact Sulu had been trying to keep to a minimum was now necessary.

Curling his free hand around Spock's, he wove his fingers between the other man's longer digits, holding them steady and spread. From a human point of view, it was barely a friendly touch; reflected in Spock's Vulcan mindset, it was nearly pornographic. "Please continue." Spock's voice was throaty, almost a growl, and Sulu bit both his lips hard, wielding the brush like a rapier, _fencing, it's like fencing, instinct,_ and drew two slashes, four hasty swirls, and dropped the brush with a moan echoed back to him. Only by reaching down and squeezing himself roughly did he avoid coming in his pants right then.

Even without touching, he could _still_ feel shock and bliss radiating from Spock, whose slumped shoulders and raspy breath were as far from composure as he'd ever seen the Vulcan. More than a minute passed before Spock lifted his head, eyes fixed on Sulu intently.

"Are you all right?" Sulu ventured, swallowing hard at the look on Spock's face. If he had to put a name to the expression, the closest Sulu could come was 'predatory.'

"I am well." The pale, undecorated hand snagged the cloth Sulu had used to clean the drop of ink from Spock's hand, and Sulu glanced away, only then realizing that they'd been left alone in the temple's side garden. Impulsively, he stood up and rounded the table, waiting for the cloth to be discarded before he stood next to his commanding officer.

"If you'll permit me the liberty, sir..." Spock arched one eyebrow, permission or inquisition, Sulu didn't hesitate to consider; he slid a hand through silky black hair and turned Spock's head up to meed his descending lips. He'd never thought the circumstances of a first kiss would be anything like this, but the satisfaction that washed over him as their mouths met blew all of his idle fantasies away. Control still shattered, Spock kissed with the full force of his emotion backing the action, and somewhere between the flick of a tongue and a bitten lip Sulu found himself pulled into Spock's lap.

"Allow me..." The request came after the Vulcan's hand had already slipped into Sulu's uniform trousers, the sheer _heat_ of his skin and the drag of well-manicured nails wringing a cry from Sulu. Moments were all it took before Sulu bent his head against Spock's and came with a groan, sending a sympathetic tremble through Spock. Extracting his hand carefully, Spock reached for the cloth he'd dropped but was stopped by Sulu's hand around his wrist. "Mr. Sulu?"

"I think you can call me Hikaru now, if you'd like." Lips quirked in a half-smile before Sulu's tongue darted out, licking up Spock's palm with long swipes. Spock's eyes widened as Sulu sucked each of his fingers clean in turn, fully aware of the promises being made with each lick.

"Hikaru. If you would come to my quarters after we return to the ship tonight--"

"Absolutely, sir." Sulu grinned, gracefully removing himself from Spock's lap. "I'm looking forward to discussing today's events with you."


End file.
